New Stories: A Little Girl helps the King Escape (happened with lots of changes)

Godgifu brought Lawrence chunks of bread which she tore into bits to shove through the chinks the other children had used for less pleasant provender. Lawrence blessed her and ate each one slowly, savoring every mouthful. He heard the scapegoat Theo being reprimanded for stealing bread and the child’s ineffectual protestations of innocence. Godgifu had a self-satisfied smile when he asked her about it. She shrugged.

Once each day when the raiders were in camp the leader would open the door to the hut and stand with his hands on his hips and bark questions at his hostage. He seemed only mildly surprised at the prisoner’s silence. “You know you are wasting my time and your own. I’ve already sent my man to let your lady know you are available for a price. It will go hard for you if you don’t cooperate. Your lady might find one or two things missing when she has you back.”

Lawrence managed a derisive snort.

“And what, prithee, is that supposed to mean?” the dirty man demanded.

“My lady has little use for any of my parts… she prefers… God.” Lawrence knew nothing of the sort about Aldwin’s wife, but it was useful to make his value less.

The leader eyed him. “Well, maybe she has none, but you certainly do. So you may want to pray to her God that she feels more warmly than you realize.”

When he had gone this last time the King realized he needed to act quickly. It would be just days, if that, until the messenger returned with the tidings that Aldwin was safe at home in the usurper’s pay. He had to get away the first chance he got.

Lawrence had noticed that he was not specifically guarded but that two men had night duty prowling the edge of the camp. Their vigilance was not terribly sharp. They seemed more bored and sleepy than alert. He knew his best chance to get away would be when the other men had gone on a raiding party. He did not have to wait long.

The morning after his latest conversation with the leader he heard the horses’ hooves and the calls of the men as they departed. He waited for his regular visit from Godgifu. When she had come with the bread and a small portion of bacon, he thanked her profusely. Then he asked her, “Godgifu, dear child, I have one last thing I need you to help me with. I vouchsafe that the time will come, and not too far in the future when I shall reward you mightily. Do you believe me?”

The girl looked back at the blue eye she could see through the chink in the wattle and nodded. “Aye, I believe you. You are my friend, just as I am yours.” She smiled confidently.

“Bless you, my friend,” he replied. Then he told her what she needed to do. She seemed to think a while, then smiled and nodded shortly. All he could do now was trust her and wait.

In the first dark of the night he heard a noise at the strong door to the hut. It was the sound of the latch being unfastened. When no one followed it by opening the door and coming in he breathed a prayer for his benefactress and made the sign of the cross. He let the bonds on his wrist slip off. They were well loosened by now. He had only kept them on in case he was surprised without them. He waited until he could hear the snores from within the other huts. He peered out to where he could just make out the sentries as they turned, their faces reflecting the light of the one central fire. He smiled. The two on duty tonight were the most indolent. The one taller man did as he always did, whispered something into the other man’s ear and sneaked into the cottage of one of the raiders, no doubt to make a visit to the man’s young and buxom wife. The other man turned out to be the one with only one hand. He had learned this was Godgifu’s father. He frowned. .

Once he saw the tall man had gone to his amorous meeting, he watched the girl’s father take his usual position, his back against the wall of one of the huts. He slowly and as quietly as possible tried the door. It moved! It opened! He glanced up to see the one handed man glance around quickly at the creak in the hinges of the door. The man smiled to himself and shook his head. Apparently he chalked the sound up to his friend’s trysting.

Lawrence located the two good sized stones the child had placed behind his hut. He had to pass the sentry to get past a woven branch barrier. He took both stones in case another man proved to be about and made his stealthy way towards the girl’s father.

As he approached the man, he bent and picked up a pebble from the ground. He tossed it past the man so it clattered on the ground on the other side from himself. The man obligingly turned to look. The King lifted the rock in his right hand and brought it down onto the man’s head, trying hard just to knock him senseless. He certainly did not want to reward the child by killing her father. he had other plans for the man and his family. His luck held and the man made a guttural noise in his throat, then fell straight down.

Lawrence put the other rock down. He found the man’s dagger and seaxa and took them. He quickly chanced pulling the man’s old rusty mail tabard off him and hastened to slip into the woods. He was gone and away long before the hubbub began when the illicit lover returned to his post to find his friend unconscious.

Godgifu allowed herself a troubled glance in the direction of the wood trying to equate the violence done to her father to the kind man she had come to think of as her friend. Her mother exclaimed, “He could have been killed!” and the girl realized that the man, Aldwin, must have tried his best not to murder her father. Was that the reward he promised? She did not know. She tried to forget all about it.

Lawrence could not go far in the dark as he would risk at best becoming even more lost than he already was and at worst stumbling into another gang of bandits or worse. He got as far as he felt wise and climbed a tree to wait until light.

When dawn peered over the eastern edge of the world he found himself within site of a river. “The Welland?” he wondered. If so he was into Mercia where he sat perched in a tree. He looked down at himself. He was all but naked. All his fine clothes including underclothes had been taken. He had been given a poor blanket and a longish tunic. He was bare of feet and leg. He stank of his captivity and lack of a privy. His hair was almost as greasy as the bandit leader’s. He would pass for the worst of society. He knew if he kept his head down so no one could see the piercing blue of his eyes, even his height and strength would not likely betray him. Nevertheless, he checked the sun, ascertained north, and slipped down cautiously to dash from cover to cover to the edge of the river.

It took him several days to find a place where he could ford the river. He had to avoid the easier spots as they would be likely to be busy with travelers. Then he took a circuitous route and waded in streams whenever he could just in case the bandit raiding party was angry and avaricious enough to come after him with dogs. For all he knew as he wound both west and east and even occasionally back south he was going to find himself in Affynshire again. Still he could tell when the fens were getting thinner and the land began to be firm and the terrain rolling meadows. He saw herds of sheep. Soon from a slight hill he saw a town by a river. He was hungry and found a small church where received alms. He managed to convince the very old priest to tell him where he was. His heart sang at the answer. South Witham! He recalled Earl Jehan complaining of the recalcitrance of the thane who resided in this town in paying his part of the war costs. It was due south of Grantham and on the very river that ran through it!

“Be careful, young man,” the priest cautioned. “I don’t think they would bother with such as you, but the uke’s men are about. Stay out of sight.” He made the sign of the cross over the man he did not realize was the King.

His path now being clear and his stomach full, he made good time following the river to Earl Jehan’s domain. When he saw the stockade he just about to begin running when an odd feeling stole over him. He recognized at once the instincts of a trained fighting man. Something was wrong. Something was not in place. He could not identify it. The gate to the stockade was closed and he saw few people about. He made his way towards the fortress and found a place nearby in a stand of trees to observe who came in and out.

It was approaching dusk when he thought he saw dust in the distance that could only be made by a cadre of mounted men on a dirt path. He waited to see who it would be.

The dusk was growing but he could still make out the insignia of Earl Jehan and soon recognized the man himself. he stepped out into the path, smiling broadly, as the group came closer. He lifted his arm in greeting, then froze. Jehan had gone white as a sheet.

Next: Shannon and Rory on Separate Roads

New Stories: The King Is Captured by Bandits (Happened with lots of changes)

This is one of the two stories I had to cut from the novel, both for artisitic and practical reasons... the first manuscript was over 900 pages. I did not want to cut either, but there it is. I am glad to have the opportunity to share it here. My battle consultant Jack Graham and I are both quite fond of little Godgifu, our "Cinfy Lou Who who was no more than two."

The rank odor of horse sweat was in his nostrils and the same taste was on his lips. He would have gasped for air but for the stench. His head throbbed with pain. He tried to open his eyes but what he could see was clouded and his head reeled. He concentrated on taking inventory of his other senses and his body.

All right, he smelled horse, tasted horse sweat, and could see little. His most immediate impression was of being slumped over a saddle face down with his head down on one side and his legs hanging over the other. They weren’t exactly dangling.. why? His ankles were bound. So were his wrists. How did he come to be bound and thrown over the animal? He searched his memory. Lagu. In the muddy pool. The branch swung at the back of his head. A sharp pain there confirmed the recall.

So Lagu had abducted him. He was on a horse and Lagu and probably his men accompanied him. What could he hear? Was that Lagu riding this horse? More likely an underling of the lieutenant’s. Voices, laughter, horses snorting. Voices.. but not Brezhoneg words. They were speaking Saxon! These were men on horse and some on foot. They seemed to be arguing and taunting each other. About.. about him! Or rather his garb. Who would take his leather armor. Who would take his mail jerkin. Who would get his braes. What about his boots? Someone already had them. He could tell his feet were bare. Had they already apportioned his sword? His rich cloak? Bandits then. Did they know…?

He next heard the answer to the very question he was formulating in his aching brain. “I don’t know who this lordling is, but he should fetch a goodly sum whether he be Mercian or Crísliclander.”

They did not know he was the king! That was well. They would be on guard, but not as careful as if they knew what sort of effort would be made to find him. He decided to feign unconsciousness and listen for as long as he could. But he had to pee, urgently. Do unconscious men pee? He would hold back as long as he could stand it.

It turned out that bouncing on your belly on the back of a horse did not make it easy to hold it. He finally said to the horse's upright rider, “Look, man, I have to piss… would you let me down? If you don’t I will have to piss where I am.”

“God’s bollocks!” The man on whose horse he was draped called out. He had not realized Lawrence was anything but senseless. “The man’s awake.” He struck Lawrence on the back making him expel his breath and moan. “You filthy bastard. So you are awake.. you could have told me you needed to take a piss.” The man roughly tugged at his brigandine and shoved him off the horse backwards . He hit the ground on his side, crying out with the force of it but having the sense to roll away before the startled horse shied and took a couple skittish steps towards him.

“You idiot,” another man shouted. He won’t be of much use if he’s dead.”

“Aw, he’s all right. Didn’t you see him roll away? He was probably already conscious. He was going to pissed on me on purpose.”

The laughter was coming into his throbbing brain from all around him. One particularly shrill voice stabbed in sharper. He heard men dismounting.

A booted toe prodded at him. It roughly shoved him onto his back. He opened his eyes to see his own boot attached to a man with greasy dark hair, torn and filthy garb, and a smile with numerous gaps. He screwed his eyes shut again.

“Wake up, my very blue-eyed lord. Or do you want a kick in the balls?”

Lawrence preferred to avoid that so he opened his eyes again. “Who are you?”

The man kicked hard, but in the shoulder. “That is my question, not yours. Who are you?” Mercifully he waited for the King to catch his breath.

“Aldwin.. Aldwin of Sleaford.. a thane to Earl Botopher,” Lawrence gasped, quickly picking someone credible and not likely to be known by these ruffians. “Who are you?”

The leader crouched by him and smiled into his face. “Let me introduce myself. I am King Lawrence of Críslicland and that fellow there whose horse you fell from is Lord Jehan of Grantham. The fellow over there with only one hand is His Holiness Pope Adrian. And.. well unfortunately Jænbert, the Archbishop of Canterbury isn’t with us any more. He was hanged.” He sighed deeply and with more than enough drama. “So, who will pay your ransom, my lord? The Earl? Your family? The King? No wait, that’s me. I won’t be paying your ransom… but maybe my cousin will…”

Lawrence set his jaw and refused to answer.

“Ah, well, you will tell us soon enough. You won’t eat until you do. Now weren’t you saying something about needing a piss?” He gestured to the one-handed man. “Your Holiness, will you escort our comrade to where he can piss?”

Lawrence was roughly dragged to his feet by two rank smelling bandits. “I can hardly piss with my hands tied behind my back. Or do you plan to hold it for me, sire?” He grinned at the leader.

The man eyed him. “Very funny.” To one of the men holding him he directed, “Tie his wrists in front but tie them to the ankle ropes so he cannot lift them higher than his needs require. And keep a weapon on him. I think this one might be tricky.”

Lawrence looked for any opportunity he could to escape the bandits over the long ride to wherever they were bound, but his head still throbbed, and he still could not see straight. He bided his time until he had his wits and senses again. The bandits sat at their fire each night eating whatever game they caught and roasted. He was tied to a tree, and the men brought over bits of meat and waved it under his nose. He managed to give one fellow a good kick in the shin despite his ankles being bound.

At last they reached a small encampment where a number of dirty children and ragged women ran out as the leader gave a three note whistle. The leader’s woman ran to his stirrup. “Well, now who have you got there?”

“Lord Aldwin, may I present my lady, Queen Josephine, the most beautiful lady in the land?” He leaned down and kissed the woman noisily on the lips and reached out a hand to grab her.

Lawrence gave a slight nod to the woman, and he managed to keep the fury he felt at the insult to his queen from showing.

The woman took on an imperious stance. “Off with his head!”

“Nay, my love. He won’t fetch much of a price if he is dismembered.” The leader directed one of his men to take Lawrence to a hut on the far edge of the encampment that had a stout timber door with a heavy latch. He was dragged off his place behind one of the mounted men and dragged to the door. It was opened and he was thrown in. The door was slammed shut and the latch put in place. The hut was small and dark and none too sweet smelling.

The door was solid, but the walls, though stout, had lots of chinks in the wattle and mud. Lawrence could tell when it was day or night and could see much of what went on in the camp. It was little different from the daily activities of any small village. The women bustled about after children, the cooking fire, bringing water from some unseen creek or river. He listened for any information he could. He was rewarded for having an eye or ear to the chinks with whatever insect or mouse or worse the children found to shove through the holes with shrieks of laughter and taunts of a surprising variety of filthy words.

He grew increasingly hungry though he used all the skill he had as a warrior to submerge the nagging pangs. He had been without food for six days he gauged, but thankfully not without water. They did not want him dead after all. He knew if he had to he could start eating the mice and other creatures forced to share his captivity with him.

On the third and fourth days of his imprisonment he watched as the main raiding party left early in the morning and returned late the following day. He listened for any hint of where they were. He heard one man comment that the lack of rain for the past fortnight had not made a dint on the boggy land near the border. Lawrence put his mind to work mapping all the possibilities.

All the while he was loosening his bonds. He had tightened the muscles in his wrists when the bandits moved his hands to his front so that when he relaxed the ponds were slightly looser. He contrived to make them look taut again every time water was brought in to him, though it was dark enough in the now quite malodorous hut that he need not have bothered.

He managed to get the attention of a small girl with huge dark eyes. She was the only child who had held back when the others had played their tricks on him. He noticed how the other children tormented her and decided to make use of her likely desire for revenge.

“Lass,” he called to her quietly as she stood alone watching the hut. “Come here, I won’t hurt you. I just want to say hello.”

The girl stared at him, glanced about to see who was looking, then pointed around the hut and slowly walked as if she was heading for the woods. Lawrence went over to the other side of the hut, thankful he had not chosen that corner as his latrine. When he peered out he saw a brown eye peering in.

“What beautiful eyes you have, lass. What is your name?”

The girl hesitated a moment, looked away and then back. “Godgifu,” ”she whispered. “Your name is Aldwin.”

“That’s right. Do you know what that means?” His voice was soft and sweet.

She nodded, her mouth hanging open a little. “Old friend,” she whispered.

“That’s right. We are old friends, aren’t we, God’s gift? You know that is what your name means, don’t you?”

The girl smiled for the first time since he first saw her. “Aye. I am a gift from God.”

“You certainly are to me. Your name is true. So is mine. I am your old friend. “

“The others tease me about my name,” the little girl said sadly, casting down her eyes.

“The others are very bad and cruel. They are mean to you by teasing you and hitting you. I saw that.”

Godgifu looked up surprised,. “You did?!”

“I did. They are mean to me too when they put those things through the holes. And they are mean to the mice and the insects too.” He gambled on the girl’s sense of camaraderie with others who were tortured.

“Why are they so mean, Aldwin?” she asked plaintively.

Lawrence held his breath a moment. “Because they don’t know what you and I and those little helpless creatures know.”

“They don’t? What is that?” The child’s curiosity was piqued.

“That we are not helpless at all. Not if we stick together.” Lawrence watched the girl nod slowly. “Not if we help each other?”

He paused. She was thinking this over.

“You and me and the bugs and the mice?” Godgifu asked with more hope than doubt.

“Aye. Have you ever rescued a mouse from the bad children?”

She nodded, then added, “And I rescued a robin they caught.”

“Exactly. And has a mouse or a bee ever hurt one of the bad children to punish them for teasing or hitting you?” The voice through the wattle came smooth and inviting.

She nodded with recognition. “Aye, when Theo pushed me in the mud and got my dress all filthy he got bit by a snake. He screamed and screamed, louder than me.”

The king put out his wager. “That’s what we do, we are all friends. Will you help me, Godgifu? You know I prayed for help and God gave me you, a gift from God. Would you bring me some bread?”

The child’s face lit up. “I will!”

“Wait!” Lawrence rasped as the girl turned to run away. “We have to be really sneaky. No one should know that we are sticking together and helping each other. Do you understand?“

The girl smiled and nodded. “I will make it look like one of the bad children stole the bread.”

“That’s right. You do that.” As she dashed away Lawrence sat back against the wall and sighed.

Next: Godgifu helps the king escape

New Stories: An Attempt Is Made on the King's Life (Happened)

n a cloudy but dry day, Lawrence rode with his general, Horsa, and a party of both mounted men and men at arms on foot. They had begun to know the lay of the land, where the path was clear, where fields stretched dotted with sheep and easy to ride over, and where the copses of woods and low lying areas might mask a mire. It was beautiful country, with bucolic views from hills that made one think he could see all the way to Lawrencium. The king knew better than to dwell on this. He would be there when he was there. In the meantime he kept his ears tuned and his eyes sharp for subterfuge and ambush.

Horsa slowed his horse, stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes, peering to the south towards a thicket. “Sire, I see what may be some men on foot.”

“Mercians.. or brigands?” Lawrence wondered.

“We shall find out, my lord,” Horsa replied with a twinkling eye. He adjusted the buckle on his helm, raised his hand to signal his men, and rode around the small stand of spindly trees. Lawrence directed his own men to make the circuit around the other side.

They approached stealthily, then as they circled deosil, there was a crack of broken branches further along. “Take that route!” Lawrence shouted, himself spurring straight into the trees. His men hesitated but a moment, then rode away having felt the lash of the king’s anger when they tried to protect him by accompanying him in these impulsive actions. “God’s teeth, I am a better fighter than three of you together.. I should be protecting you!” he had bellowed.

Despite the dense undergrowth of the wood, War-Brother nimbly stepped through it and between the unhealthy looking trees. He was trained to step firmly but lightly both for stealth and to allow his royal rider to hear noises that were alien to the surroundings.

They at length came to a small clearing with a pool that stretched to the surrounding trees and had reeds growing in all but the middle of it. He saw that the only route was to back out and go around or to cross the pool. Lawrence urged his horse forward, talking quietly in his ear to reassure him. War-Brother obeyed and stepped into the water gingerly, advancing step by step towards the middle. Lawrence guided him more to the right towards the reeds in hope of avoiding a sudden drop down in the center.

Lawrence started up at the sound of a branch being broken nearby as his horse first encountered some sucking muddy footholds and lost his nimbleness. Just then a large water bird squawked a protest at being disturbed in her reedy nest, flying straight up and startling the normally sanguine horse. War-Brother reared, sending the king backward off his saddle. Lawrence splashed down, hitting his helmeted head on a stump. Dazed he pulled off his helm so as not to be weighted down and drown. He dropped it and it, along with its kingly circlet of gold, fell into the water and sank into the mud.

Lawrence found himself in the same quagmire in which War-Brother struggled with the muck underfoot. The king tried to calm him and call him to himself. The horse laboriously dragged one foot out of the sucking fen bottom, then the other. His concentration was so intense he started when suddenly there was a shout just out of sight. War-Brother, his eyes wild and starting out of his head, bolted, crashing through the stunted growth on the edge of the quagmire.

Lawrence struggled to rise. It seemed as if every place where he put his hands or feet sucked him in. His cloak was caught in roots so he tore it off. He felt his sword in the sheath on his back as he pulled his cloak from under it and thought to use it to extricate himself. He drew it and looked about for the best route to escape his muddy trap.

“What have we here?” came an accented voice from beside the quagmire.

The king looked up, holding his sword in a defensive ward. He saw the man standing just feet away. It took him a moment to place him. Then he said, amazed, “Lagu?” It was Elerde’s lieutenant. “What are you doing here?” Lawrence cast his eyes about for others, one Leon commander in particular, without taking his eyes off Lagu entirely.

“Looking for you, my lord,” the dark-haired man said with a smile.

Lawrence heard the nicker of a horse not far away and knew it was not War-Brother. He watched the man warily. He wanted to shout , to alert his men, but he knew the shout might draw others to the spot. He knew he could take the fellow alone, that is, if he could get out of the muck.

Lagu came around to where Lawrence was sitting struggling to stand and turn to face him. The man’s sword was drawn and he glanced about from time to time to be sure no one was approaching.

“You are alone,” Lawrence observed hopefully. “What is this all about?”

Lagu did not answer. He cautiously leaned forward and pulled the waterlogged cloak from where it lay partly on the bank. “Your sword, my lord,” he commanded.

Lawrence grinned wryly to himself. “Ah.. I think not.” He was carefully loosening the muck’s grip on each leg under the surface of the water, while trying to twist so he could put his sword into play if Lagu attacked him from behind. The combination of actions canceled each other out as he had to balance almost all of his weight on his arse. As he lifted one leg he would tip sideways and was unable to keep twisted as far as he could. As he twisted the other leg became further trapped.

He heard Lagu thrashing about in the thicket behind him. His head turned as far as he could manage in his mail hood. He could only make out the man stooping and pushing aside brush and rooting about on the ground. He heard the man grunt and say something in the Brezhoneg language, then heard the sound of something being dragged.

Lagu came back to the edge of the pool dragging a length of rotten wood. He put his foot on the middle and snapped the branch almost in half. Lawrence struggled harder to loose himself from his trap, but Lagu raised the sturdy end of the branch and swung it towards the back of the king’s head. It connected with a thud and the world went from dim to dark.

Lagu examined his handiwork. The king‘s body had thrust forward but then recoiled to where he now lay prone and unconscious, his head in about two inches of mucky water, his sword across his legs. The Breton lieutenant smiled and pulled a short length of sturdy cord from his belt. He leaned to the king and grabbed him under the armpits. Bracing himself with bended knees, he dragged the man towards him.

Another shout made Lagu look up. He dropped the king who was now halfway out of the water. He snatched the sword that was precariously sliding along with him on his leg. The sounds came closer. Quickly wrapping the sword in the king’s cloak he looked about and then disappeared into the thicket heading away from the voices.

A small band of men in ragged clothing and much be-scarred heard the sound of Lagu’s horse breaking into as quick a pace as the undergrowth allowed. They crept forward to the clearing, cautious lest others had been in company with the rider. Their leader, a man with greasy dark hair and many missing teeth, stood up straight as he spied the figure half in and half out of the pool.

“Methinks this one was thrown by his horse. ‘Twas the beast we heard fleeing.” He grinned. “Good luck, lads.. the beast has left us a gift!”

The men, following the leader, came around both sides of the pool, careful to find solid ground under their feet. They met by the king’s head.

“A right noble one, by all that is holy,” said a bandit.

The leader laughed. “What would you know of holiness?” Then he nodded. “Aye, by the garb, methinks you are right.” he prodded the body with his foot. “But live or dead?”

One of his men stooped to feel the king’s throat under his mail collar. “Alive!” he rejoiced.

“Now we will take not only his valuables but himself. If he is a Mercian, they will ransom him. If he is not, they will buy him.” The leader was fairly salivating at the windfall.

One of his men was feeling around the tall man’s body. “But where is his sword? He propped the man up onto his side and saw the scabbard. “He had one. Where is it?”

The rest of the men searched about. “It must have fallen in the mire. It’s long gone now.”

In spite of the last statement, two of the men fished around in the water near the shore, pushing aside reeds and coming up with nothing more than handfuls of muck. They missed the helm altogether because the king had been pulled away from where he fell.

Other men found a rich brooch, a well made dagger, gold arm rings and sundry other small valuables on the man’s body. “Exceeding rich stuff. His boots alone are worth the taking. I wonder who he is.”

The leader looked at the speaker, a man whose hand had been severed for theft. “Whoever he is, someone will miss him. Now, look at that.. he really took a blow somehow.” He had seen the bloody hair where Lagu’s improvised club had hit the man. He glanced about for a rock or root that struck the man’s head as he fell. “Ah, well, no matter. Bundle him up, lads, and let’s bind the fellow and get him to our camp.”

Lawrence lay senseless as the men lifted him, secured his wrists and ankles, and threw him over the back of an underfed and elderly horse. The bandits made their way back along invisible paths well known to them.

Next: Lorin Is Rescued - "And I Helped."

New Stories: The Retaking of Grantham, Part 2 (Happened with Changes)

The fortress itself was not the stout defense that Ratherwood and Lincoln had been. It was more like the small fortifications in the area but larger, and the walls were stronger and higher. Lawrence remembered from his stay there that Jehan’s hall was of a respectable size, and the other buildings were modest but numerous.

Horsa’s force had come in on one side of the rear of the Mercians and Jehan on the other. The king readied his and Botopher’s men to surge onto the enemy’s harried but holding positions and called for the signal horn to be sounded.

A series of long clear blasts came from the center between the king’s and the Earl of Skirbeck’s lines, reverberating off the fortress walls and nearby hillsides.. Moments later to the king’s satisfaction he saw the gates of Grantham open and a force issue forth to attack the Mercians. The enemy was now surrounded. They could not form a shieldwall. They could not move nor could they flee. Even the servants and camp followers were trapped as the two reserve forces poured down on the camp.

Lawrence rode War-Brother right into the camp itself, with mounted companions flanking him and leaving a distinct path of ruin as the horses’ hooves broke apart tents and campsites and trampled them into the ground. The few soldiers not engaged in facing the surrounding forces in the field either dropped their weapons and waited for whatever attackers would do or were cut down in the effort to defend the camp. Lawrence saw the puzzlement in one officer’s face. He almost heard the man’s thought, “But the usurper had no army here! Where did they come from?”

Lawrence met the man’s raised sword with his own, shouting “Críslicland!” just as he ran him through.

Quitting the encampment, the king’s and Skirbeck’s commands fell on the Mercian forces who were now being decimated on five sides. Lawrence took a moment from swinging his sword and fending blows from swords, axes and spears to look up at the lines that had poured out of the fortress gates. He could not see faces to ascertain expressions so he could not tell if they had guessed the ruse. The mounted fighters he had commanded to secure the gate so they could not reenter the stronghold had taken position in front of it.

The Mercian soldiers, apparently either unaware of the identity of the attackers from behind or too pressed to care whom they fought off, valiantly fought on. It was a losing battle. There were few prisoners simply because the warriors fought on to the death. The ground outside Lord Jehan’s fort was littered with the dead and wounded, most of them Mercian, their torn bodies raising the stink of war.

On the north side of the remaining Mercian lines an officer on horseback rode at Lawrence, causing War-Brother to rear. The king fell against the saddle’s back and toppled, his helm coming loose and hanging askew as he hit the ground. The officer advanced to finish him off, but he was fended off by the king’s companions. He saw the man, struggling to his feet and being guarded while he remounted. “Lawrence!” the Mercian horseman breathed. Then he shouted the name and turned his horse to ride to his own commander only to be headed off by Crísliclandian soldiers and slain.

The commander Gaylorde had put in charge of Grantham heard the shout but doubted his own ears. He turned from engaging a Mercian soldier to see the “rescue” forces from Edric riding straight at him. He looked back only in time to finish off the Mercian swordsman. The king’s force bearing down on them, Thrydulf’s men and the Mercians alike stopped and stared. They were few in number, knew it, and threw down their swords, all but Thrydulf and a few officers from both camps.

The king rode forward with his companions and the running men at arms behind them and pulled up to a stop not far in front of Thrydulf. The usurper’s crony affected a defiant stance, spread his feet out on the bloody ground and held his sword at high ward and his shield in front of him. But instead of rushing forward to attack him, the lead horseman of the rescue party casually reached up and loosed the tie that held his helm and then took it off. He signaled one of his companions who reached in to his leather gabardine and pulled out a folded cloth. He shook it out, revealing the sword and sun device of Lawrence, king of Críslicland.

Thrydulf froze. He gaped unbelieving at the bearded man sitting astride the sturdy horse, the man who breathed hard and whose hair was soaked with sweat from the exertion of battle, smiling slightly. Thrydulf, a man of average height clad in good mail and a solid helm, smelled the sharp tang of horse sweat mix with the metallic odor of blood as he let his shoulders droop, his sword fall, and pulled his shield off his arm with the other hand. He reached up and removed his helm, keeping his face hidden until it was completely unarmored save for the quilted coif that covered his thinning hair. Then he went forward to the king and fell to his knees several feet before the front hooves of War-Brother. Beside and behind him his officers and men who had not already done so threw down their weapons and fell to their knees. The few Mercians left standing slumped, heads bowed, pulled off helms and waited or slowly tried to back up and away only to find horsemen of Críslicland behind them.

“Lord king!” Thrydulf called and fell on his face prostrate on the ground. “Thank God you are here! We thought you were still in Affynshire and we would be at the mercy of the usurper!” He lifted his head to peer up at the king so far above him. “You do know about the usurping, do you not, my liege?”

“Aye, I know,” responded the king sourly. “And of your part in it, Thrydulf. Nay, nay, do not protest, for it shall do you no good. But there is a greater cause now, the repulsion of the Mercians. Stand and take back your armor and weapons and finish off these bastards from Offa.” Lawrence looked at the man struggling to his feet sternly, then turned his horse, put back on his helm, and rode away to what was left of the fray.

Thrydulf watched him ride away, then turned, rearmed and shouted to his men, “Kill them. Kill all of them. It’s our only chance.” They hesitated, and he snapped, “The Mercians, you lack-wits!”

Unaided by the king’s soldiers, the traitor’s men with great loss of life yet managed to finish off the Mercians as they streamed towards them.

Lawrence had set Botopher to insure that the rapidly depleted Mercian force could not escape south and back across the border where they could regroup with the force that had been sent to quell the western forts and who would have learned of the attack on their own forces by now.

The battle was all but won when someone inside the fortress shouted down to his fellows, “The king! It’s the king!” After a stunned pause a great clamor of cheering arose. The people of the compound started to push the remaining traitorous soldiers out of the gate. Some of those surrendered immediately, others tried to get away and were killed. The lady of Grantham caught the cries and rushed about her chamber, searching for any sign of Thrydulf, throwing what she could into the fire and the rest out the narrow window.

An anxious Earl Jehan entered the gates of his own stronghold just behind the king when the halfhearted final resistance of the Mercians collapsed. Little had changed, at least to his eye, and he relaxed, anxious to get into his own Hall and to take the reins again. He strode to his hall, noting with some puzzlement the litter of this and that on the ground under his lady's chamber window.

The scouts reported that the force that had been sent to take the eastern forts had fled across the border. Horsa commented, “We will have to meet them again, sire, but at least they won’t swell the ranks of the prisoners for now.” He glanced up at the few dozen Mercian men who were corralled by ropes and armed guards in the courtyard.

The king pardoned all who had fought for Thrydulf on the condition they retake their oaths to him and fight along with his forces against the duke. Some key officers were required to give family members as hostages who would be well treated and returned to their fathers’, brothers’, and husbands’ bosoms when Gaylorde was removed.

“What shall we do with Thrydulf, my lord of Grantham?” the king asked Jehan.

Jehan's lady looked up suddenly.

“Kill him,” the older man replied.

The woman's lips turned up in a hopeful smile.

Lawrence thought a moment. “I need him now. He might be useful. But when I am done with him, he is yours.”

Jehan saw his wife go pale. She rushed out of the hall trying to look like she was on an errand.

The king turned to Horsa, standing near him in Jehan's hall with a horn of ale. “Now we turn our minds to re-strengthening the border against the Mercians.”


Lincoln was secure and back in Earl Sagar’s capable hands. Grantham was secure – for now – back in Earl Jehan’s indifferent control. The Mercians stayed along the border, ready to cross and harry. The king found himself in a place with strong and regretful memories of a young woman who died because of him. He pushed them away, focusing on the task at hand.

The rush to Lincoln had been as much to find out if what that traitor Malcolm had said was true, that the king’s cousin had seized the crown. He brought an image to mind of the man with his insolent smirk and white hair and heard the taunt again. “Elerde.. with Gaylorde.. in Lawrencium.. where Josephine is.” He felt his fury rise again just as it had before he boosted the sneering man over the wall to be brought up short with a broken neck by the rope attached to the palisade. The violent impulse had not satisfied him. He was still angry, feeling star-crossed, like the gods were throwing things in his path at every turn just to watch him fall and laugh at him. He had been afraid to hope that Malcolm had lied, wanting to make him suffer even after he himself was dead.

At the bridge at Lincoln he learned it was true. He had lost his crown. He wanted nothing more than to ride directly to Lawrencium and personally disembowel his cousin.. then Elerde.

Then as soon as Lincoln itself was regained, the news came, as Horsa had said it would, that Mercia was advancing on Grantham. That had been a good little bit of strategy, he thought to himself, glad to be able to lay claim on responsibility for such a complete success. They had routed the Mercians and taken Gaylorde’s henchmen completely by surprise. It had been sweet. Bittersweet that is. For now he was stuck with his ghosts at Grantham. His leadership was required to make sure the Mercians stayed beaten.

Lawrence had wanted to hold the traitor Thrydulf to use for some gambit or another. The very night of the retaking of the stronghold however after overhearing shouts and weeping from the earl's wife's chamber, Lawrence and the other commanders jumped up and ran to the sound of many voices raised in consternation. They found Jehan standing over Thrydulf's body in the hut the man had been held in. Jehan held a bloody dagger in his hand. The unarmed Thrydulf was dying of a belly wound.

The king looked at his earl. "What is this, my lord?"

Jehan's teeth were clenched. Through them he said "He raped my lady wife."

After the vody was carried away and the earl taken to his chamber where his wife fussed over him, Seaxwulf, Lincoln's steward, caught the king's eye. "My liege, may I have leave to speak to you?"

Lawrence assented and they walked some paces apart. "My liege, the traitor and the lady shared a bedchamber."

Lawrence's eyes revealed understanding. He thanked the man. and told him he could go home to Lincoln if he wished, with the king's unending gratitude for the part he had played in the victory.

Earl Botopher, like the king, strained at the lead. His own young wife waited in Skirbeck, or so he hoped. But with Sagar and Jehan tenaciously demanding they be allowed to focus on restoring order in their own earldoms, Lawrence, Horsa and Botopher were forced to spend their time planning how to keep the border firm.

One way to do this was to patrol it. It was not a very pleasant task, as the border with Mercia in these parts was dotted with fens. Centuries hence those fens would be greater but further east, the coastline filled out towards The Wash. Nevertheless over past ages the silt that filled the rivers and created the fens had taken their slow, tiny bites of Midlands ground and caused the land south to the border to become treacherous with undetected bogs.

Unwilling to allow his men to suffer discomforts that he did not as well, Lawrence joined these parties often. Nearly every foray over the rolling fields, into dense woods with skinny tangled trees and blocking undergrowth, and through fords that like as not could go from shallow to deep without warning, resulted in encounters with Mercian raiding parties And in every encounter the king and his companions were successful in driving the raiders back.

Still, they came again, relentlessly, keeping Lawrence in Grantham and testing his patience sorely.

Next: An Attempt on the King's Life

New Stories: Retaking Grantham, Part 1 (Happened with Changes)

t the council around the command campfire Horsa drew a map in the dirt.

“Our scouts have been able both to see and to hear about the succeeding incursions into the area of Grantham. It seems that the usurper’s men had taken over the fortress and all the small forts that serve primarily to offer shelter from Mercian raiding parties for the local farms. Thrydulf seems to have been poised for that little task well before Gaylorde ordered it..” The white haired and bearded man glanced at Jehan who nodded sourly.

Horsa went on. “It was but a short time after all these forts were taken that the Mercians arrived. That is much faster than I should think they could have formulated their plans, but I do not know. They easily took the three most southerly forts, nearest the border. The others here,” he indicated a crescent east of the three he had just drawn with a sweep of the stick he was using, “are still in the duke’s hands but will be quite easy to take, whether or not Mercia snatches them before we do.”

Earl Jehan of Grantham remarked, “At any rate, having to do this to prevent local raiding parties from harassing them from behind has forced the Mercians to take several days to get as far as they have.”

The king nodded, “Which has afforded us some extra time. So long as Seaxwulf was believed as the messenger from Edric in Lincoln, we should be entirely unexpected. Some luck on our side for once.”

Then Glethin the archer responded to a nod from Horsa by standing and taking the stick from him. “My scouts tell me Mercia is splitting its strength three ways, the smallest forces left to guard the forts so the peasants don’t flee and join Thrydulf’s command. The largest part, about half the entire force, is heading for Grantham now. They are discovering that Thrydulf has more or less stripped the land and towns of supplies, both no doubt to withstand a long siege and also to deprive the Mercians of any fresh food. They could not do much about the fresh water. It is there for all to take. But the Mercians will be forced to forage and hunt which takes a lot of manpower away from fighting. That is the third part of Mercia’s soldiers I referred to.”

Lawrence added his voice to the exposition. “Here is what I plan. I do not think Thrydulf will have any bands of men outside the walls of Grantham now. The bulk of the Mercian forces are too close. If he does, however, they are expecting Edric’s help, and they certainly are not expecting the king.” He flashed a grin at the commanders, then continued. “We need to find ways to hide who we are from both sides. Botopher will instruct the warriors to cover their shield insignia however they can. Grantham and its outlying forts is roughly a triangle.” The king outlined it on the makeshift map. “Horsa will take half our force and circle the west side of the triangle. I will take the other half and secure the east.”

Horsa took up the instruction. “Each of our forces will move extremely slowly and quietly. We must gather and carry all the supplies we will need. The last thing we want is for Mercia to get wind that we are encircling their backs. Let them watch to the north for a force from Lincoln.“

In the early morning of the next day the archers set out in two parties, one circling the triangle sun-wise and the other widdershins. As they quietly advanced spreading as much as communications would allow, they surprised and finished off a large number of foraging and hunting parties and several scouts. In the little villages if they dared enter they found people only too willing to point out the scouts or collaborators. “Mercia” was not a polite word in southwest Críslicland after decades of raids on their farms and villages.

Horsa’s and the king’s shield men advanced following the archers at some distance behind. They moved as silently as a force of men may, taking any Mercia parties or scouts that the archers missed on their way through. The archers were waiting at the halfway point just to the southeast of Grantham when first Horsa’s and then the king’s armies came into view, reduced by a small number of men set to take the eastern forts.

It was the day before Seaxwulf had told the traitorous Thrydulf the rescuers from Lincoln would arrive. The Larger part of the Mercians were already encamped around Grantham itself. Their commanders waited nervously for the foraging parties to return with food supplies and fresh meat, but they chalked the delay up to the foragers having to go further and further afield to find anything. They talked among themselves of making the siege as short as possible so they could get at the stored providence behind the walls of the fortress.

Horsa and the king now turned their sights and their armies north, paralleling each other as they marched in four columns, always keeping in view of signals from those other lines nearest them. Two of the columns followed roads, one had to pass cross-country, and one remaining had a mix of tracks and fields to traverse. Banners and trappings were nowhere in sight. Shields were covered or whitewashed.

Seaxwulf was to have informed Thrydulf that on the fifth day a horn blast would signal him to emerge with his forces attack the Mercian encampment that surrounded the fortress.

The king and Horsa were readying themselves and their forces for the "rescue". A scout from Glefin’s troop came running into the king’s command area.

“My lord, my lord,” he called out as best he could with the breath he still had. “The Mercians.. a force of them has left the encampment and is preparing to attack one of the eastern forts.”

Lawrence and Horsa exchanged looks and grins. “God be praised,” the king said. That leaves the encampment with fewer men. With Thrydulf on one side and all of us on the other, the Mercians do not have a chance.”

While Horsa and Jehan prepared to lead the attacks on the rear of the unsuspecting Mercian encampment the king and Botopher each prepared to lead a column of men against the small forts held by minimal forces on the south. The king first spoke to all his men, cheerfully warning them not to expect the battles to be so easy as the last two, earning himself appreciative laughter from the force. Then he called upon all to return Jehan to his rightful place as lord of Grantham. “Then shall we assist poor brave Botopher here in getting back his earldom. “

He raised an arm in the young man’s direction and made a comically sympathetic face. Botopher bowed dramatically and called out, “But sire! What of him who holds Lawrencium?”

Lawrence took his seaxa from his belt and made as if he was stabbing and twisting it, making a ripping sound with his mouth. The company roared their approval.

“Just as well we are attacking now, lord, since I think even Lawrencium could hear that cheer,” Botopher remarked when the men’s voices diminished.

“So long as Offa hears it in Lundenwic, I will be content,” the king replied.

Lawrence and the young earl took the small forts with ease, overwhelming the garrisons left to guard the farmers and their families who had taken refuge there. It was clear when they entered each that the captives had joined in the fight, pulling archers from the fortifications and killing Mercian soldiers who were hard pressed to confront armed attack from without and belt knives, clubs and tooth and nail from within.

Turning back to Grantham itself Lawrence found the two columns under the general and Lord Jehan well engaged with the soldiers of Mercia laying siege to the fortress. He sighed, “I should very much have enjoyed being here for the realization that they were under attack from behind. But there is another face I want to see when he knows who has him at bay.”

Botopher questioned, “Another face? Whose, sire?”

“Thrydulf’s.”

Botopher laughed. “I suspect Jehan would like that chance as well. I know I should.. and shall with mine own nemesis.”

Next: Retaking grantham, Part 2

New Stories: The Plot to Rescue Lorin (Happened)

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Chapter 5


Leaving Lincoln in its earl’s jealously capable hands Lawrence headed to Grantham in the southwest of Críslicland as quickly as an army could. It was a reduced force. Almost as soon as Lincoln had opened its gates to the king, many of the local men drifted away. Securing Sagar’s promise to gather them up again and bring them south as soon as possible Lawrence addressed the army. He called for unity, for sacrifice, and he told the men that failure to safeguard the sovereignty of the kingdom would be a disaster for them as well as for him. Not a man did not respond to his appeal.

Now the man riding anxiously at his side was Grantham’s Earl Jehan. The message intercepted from Thryduulf, Gaylorde’s crony there, a dull fellow who nevertheless was a fine fighter as Lawrence recalled, made it clear that there was imminent threat of an attack by the kingdom of Mercia. Where the threat from the Affynshire conspirators had been dangerous, and the usurping of Lawrence’s throne was likewise, any threat from Offa, king of the Mercians, could mean the end of Críslicland incontrovertibly. Lawrence knew this as well as the older Earl riding by him did.

With Lincoln’s Sagar in attendance, the king had met with Jehan and the Earl of Skirbeck Botopher.

“I have sent Seaxwulf to tell the man holding Grantham, some fellow named Thryduulf, that his own messenger fell from his horse as he rode back to Grantham,” the king informed them. “Frightened by a snake or whatever Seaxwulf thinks most credible. AS Seaxwulf was by all accounts cooperating with Edric here, he will be believed.” Lawrence had noticed that Earl Jehan’s face had further clouded at the mention of Thryduulf’s name. “What is it, Jehan? Some information we can use?” he asked him.

“A man I know well, my liege, though mayhap more rightly deemed a snake himself. He is a thane within my holdings. A slippery fellow who drips honey one moment, then finds a way to avoid or disrupt much that I try to control. I am not surprised he is Gaylorde’s man, though it means he knows the area well and has local men commanding any traitorous fighters the Duke has sent him.” Jehan shook his head in disgust.

“My lord,” asked Sagar, markedly more respectful of the king now that he had his own fortress secure, “what message have you sent with Seaxwulf?”

Lawrence’s grim smile revealed some satisfaction with his answer. “That Edric of Lincoln is on his way to help and shall arrive and surprise the Mercians from behind in five days.” He paused, nodded seemingly to himself, then went on. “I had ‘Edric’ instruct him to spend whatever time he has ere the Mercians supplying his fortress for a siege... and to deny the Mercians forage.”

Jehan smiled, “That should keep him busy.”

“And distracted from questioning the plan and its source,” the king agreed.

Jehan’s smile broadened. “That will not be difficult. Thryduulf ere believes he is two steps ahead of the game. He will be too busy congratulating himself on his likely success to think of much else.”

Botopher put in, “What if the Mercians are a great force?”

Sagar answered for Lawrence, “We have sent our fastest messenger to Ratherwood to instruct the venerable Horsa, at the king’s command, to meet us on this side of the Trenta from Hucknall. He should be able to travel quickly and be there ere we arrive.”

“Horsa predicted Mercia would attack. He will already be waiting for orders,” the king added.

Earl Jehan's unctuous gratitude irritated the king. "My liege, to pass up the chance to save Lawrencium for Grantham's sake…"

The king’s somber look included a strong set jaw. “If Mercia gains a foothold, they may reach Lawrencium before we could have. Best to stop them before they can.”

Lawrence did not disclose his belief that should he come riding boldly and directly to Lawrencium Gaylorde, his cousin, would simply use Josephine and the children as shields and bargaining pieces. Ironically, knowing Elerde was somehow involved in Gaylorde’s perfidious plans reassured Lawrence. He knew that Elerde would do whatever it took to safeguard the queen and the royal children. The longer he could appear to be held by battle with Mercia the longer Elerde and he would have to separately find a way ro rescue the love of both men's lives .

The king’s army moved southwest from Lincoln towards the River Trenta crossing opposite the Affynshire town of Gunthorpe. There they found Horsa’s own soldiers camped and waiting not far from an abbey. When the king dismounted to clasp hands with the old warlord, he had a gratifying surpriose. There standing in a rough semicircle behind Horsa was a troop of archers dressed in the colors of King Ruallauh's own.

“What is this?” Lawrence asked the captain of the group, a dark skinnedl man with massive shoulders and arms.

The man made a deep bow. “We are sent from our lord king Ruallauh. I am Gethin, the leader of this party. We are commanded to help you scout and..” He paused to grin knowingly, ”To take care of bothersome scouts and small bands of foragers.”

With one eyebrow raised, the king nodded. “Indeed? Then Ruallauh has indeed brought me luck, as I suspected he should.”


It was the sixth visit the healer had made to the sick child in the royal nursery. The chamber was cleaner than it had been the first time she came, the floor still clear of rushes, and the bedding and clothes were clean as the bodies of the little children they kept warm. Peter, Tavish and Elaine were essentially in their own chamber, as Elerde had seen to it screens and draperies had been put in to allow them to be children without the constant reminder their playmate was senseless and ill nearby.

The healer Eormenthryth Looked up worriedly at the queen who sat across Caithness’s small pallet from her. “My lady, you look tired and worried.”

Josephine glanced up and tried to smile. “Of course I am worried about Caithness. She is not getting any better, is she? I fear that the Duke will stop allowing you to come to her, and that you are the only thing standing between her and death.”

The healer put her strong hand on the queen’s where it was folded in her lap. “Nay, nay, lady, ‘tis not me but the Goddess who will decide that. You must accept Her will, whatever it may be.”

“I have been discussing that with Father. Goddess or God, why would any deity want this sweet little girl to suffer?” Josephine bowed her head.

“Well, I know not what the good father would say, but I cannot tell you what the Goddess does or why she does it. That is why she is the Goddess and I her servant.”

Josephine smiled wanly. “That is about what my priest said about God.”

“Besides, the duke cannot prevent me from coming if I will it,” Eormenthryth said assuredly.

“What do you mean?” the queen asked, looking at the older woman skeptically.

Eormenthryth put her chin in the air and stated, “If Shannon O’Neill can get in and out of the fortress with no one seeing, so can I. That is, if it does not require a small, thin fellow like himself to do it.”

“Shannon does that? How?” Josephine asked.

“I am sure I do not know, but it is easy enough to learn how he does it. Just ask him. That is what I would do.” her attention was caught by the little girl’s cough. She took the liquor from the tiny flask from the bedside table and spooned just enough into the child’s mouth. While Caithness made her usual face at the bad taste, the healer pulled down the cover and up the child’s shift. Caithness’s little round tummy was raspberry colored with a rash. Eormenthryth clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Poor mite. All we can do is just pray and keep trying to soothe her ills.”

Father Llaenawc did not really approve of the queen’s friendship with the oft-drunken bard, but he agreed to find him and ask him to come to the queen’s chamber. It was a remarkably drunk Shannon who answered the call. Josephine could hear him outside the door loudly protesting when the guards refused to let him in.

When she pulled open the chamber door she found the Irishman with his arm crooked about the neck of one of the guards talking no more than an inch or two from the man’s face. The guard grimaced from the stench of Shannon’s breath.

“Old man, the queen wants to be talkin’ to me or wantin’ some other bit o’ me… Ye don't want to keep her waitin’.. och, there she be. I told you, now didn't I?” The guard was only too happy to let Shannon loose him and stagger away through the open doorway.

“Do you think we should…? the other guard queried.

“He is harmless. I do not know what she can possibly want with the bastard. He’s not going to be good for much the way he is,” the guard who was still fanning his nose replied.

Josephine shut the door and gestured for Shannon to go over and sit at the small table on the far side of the chamber. His stagger was gone the instant the door shut, but he waited to speak until they were seated. “Ye might be wantin’ to give me a drink of wine or ale. The cheese I ate was that loathsome… but it seems to have done the trick, by all the saints.”

Larisa hurried over to him and poured him a cup of a dark red wine. He drank some, swished it about in his mouth, then swallowed. “That should be better. Now then, what might this drunken sot be after doin’ for the lady queen?”

Josephine leaned forward over the table to whisper, “Where is the secret passage you use to go in and out of the fortress unnoticed?”

Shannon’s ruddy eyebrows shot up. “So, you know about that then, d’ye? Who told ye?”

“Never you mind. Just tell me.” Josephine gestured to Larisa to take the children, the three of them listening attentively, farther from her and her guest and to occupy them.

Shannon looked at Josephine, then shrugged and replied. “Well, out in back of the bake house there is a loose place in the dirt where part of a timber has rotted and the gap replaced with a chunk of wood. That’s just how ye get through the the first wall. Just on the t’other side of the inner wall ye can slide along until ye feel a depression underfoot. If ye quickly cross the way to the outer wall so that your nose is all but lodged in the kinks and turn your head just that sideways..” He demonstrated. “Then ye can tell that ‘tis a chimera that the outer wall is tight flush, for the timbers are set so that ye must be right on them to know that there is a gap.”

But wouldn’t men on the battlements see you?” Josephine interrupted.

“I was getting’ to that. That is on the Cliffside. They ne’er look down on the ground. They look out to sea. If ye are that careful ye can drop down to a ledge that will lead to a tunnel that leads to the beach. ‘Tis somethin’ more difficult to sneak in than out. But if ye are nimble and know where the tunnels come out, ye can do it.”

Josephine sat back and regarded him. “Why does the king not know of this? He did make the plan for the building of this fortress.”

Shannon winked. “Now what is after makin’ ye think he doesn't know about it?”

“Ah,” the queen breathed. “I see. Very clever. I suppose everyone knows about it save myself?”

“Och, nay, lady. Few know other than that there is a way. I stumbled on it one late night sneakin’ out to the tavern while me darlin’ Heather was here with me. I mean I stumbled on it.. almost fell down the side o’the cliff..”

Josephine nodded. “I thank you, good friend. That knowledge may be quite useful some time. Now I think you had better sing something to us so the guards do not get suspicious.”

Shannon nodded. He glanced over at the hangings that shielded the sick child’s pallet from the light of candles or the fire. “May I see Caitie?” he asked quietly? At Josephine’s nod he picked up his lute and walked over to the hanging, moved it aside and went in. In moments his sweet voice could be heard singing a pretty little lullaby that Caithness loved. Tears came to Josephine’s eyes as she listened. She closed them so they could not gather and fall.

Late that evening she had been dozing by Caithness’s pallet when she heard the chamber door swing open slowly. She did not look up. People were coming in and out at all times of the day. Then she heard his voice. “My lady, are you awake?” the melodic Celtic voice whispered.

She looked at her sleeping daughter and sighed. “Aye, my lord, I shall be out in a moment.”

She came through the curtains brushing down her gown. The man stood by the door gazing at her. “Aye, Lord Elerde. What is it you want?”

He stepped across the distance between them in a heartbeat, standing almost touching her foot to crown. She took a slight step backward and then relaxed. “Is the nurse awake?” he asked her.

Josephine glanced over at the curtained off area near the antechamber where Larisa slept on a pallet alongside the atheling and the other two children. “Nay, she went to bed some time ago. Why? Is there news of.. is there news?” She avoided speaking the name which may well have penetrated Larisa’s sleep, “Lorin”, the woman’s betrothed.

“He is still alive, though not well. He is kept in a storage shed, bound and unable to stand or lie prone. He has been told you and the nurse will be killed if he does not help the duke however the duke wishes.”

“What can Lorin possibly know that Gaylorde can use? There are others who deal with the day to day.” Her brow was furrowed with concern.

“I know not, my lady. The duke is a puzzle to me. He seems too think your brother must know something, the whereabouts of stores of gold, the location of ridden documents, or the plans of the king’s army. Truly, I think he is mad.” Elerde took her upper arms in his tight grip. “But that is not what I came to talk to you about, dearest lady.”

Josephine tried to pull away but he did not loosen his grip. “My lord, please! On your honor!”

Elerde looked hard into her eyes with his own coal black gaze. “My dearest, ‘tis oft the greatest challenge of my life to remain honorable. When I touch you…” The fiery look she gave him caused him to halt. “Never fear, I should never take you unwilling. I love you, Josephina.”

The queen glared at him. “Then why are you here, with Gaylorde, holding me and my children prisoner?”

Elerde looked away. “That is why I am here. To protect the woman I love and also her dear children.”

Josephine’s eyes were skeptical. “Is that what you came to tell me? That you are here because you love me? Sir, as long as my lord the king lives, I shall cleave only unto him, and e’en should he die… I can never love another man if I live to be 100. You waste your time, if you are saying truth.”

The look on the mercenary’s face was dour and defeated. “My lady,” he said flatly, “I am here to entreat you to let me take you away. Gaylorde is mad. He only lets you and the children live to use if the king should make it here and threaten to take back the fortress. That reason could fly away should.. should the king be killed.”

Josephine’s face went paler but her expression stayed firm. “But he is not dead..”

“As far as we know, no. And I will not tell you where he is or what the news, so do not ask me.” Elerde released her. “My love, please listen to me. I do not know what shall happen tomorrow or in the next hour for that matter. You must flee. I must help you.”

Josephine stood proud and calm before him. he could not meet her eyes. “Elerde, I will not leave this place while my lord king fights to regain his rightful place. I will be at his side when he does.”

Elerde nodded desultorily. “You are making a mistake, Josephine.” One of the children in the antechamber coughed and the man looked in its direction. “If not for yourself.. then for.. your children.”

Josephine paused, then shook her head. “Until there is no more hope this is where our children and I must be. I will do all I can to protect them here.” She tilted her head, considering. “Can you get me a weapon?”

Elerde looked into her eyes, resigned. “I shall try.” He looked down and took her hand and kissed it. His lips were warm on her skin and his mustache and beard felt like the king’s, making her heart ache.

“Thank you, my lord.” Dismissal was expressed in every part of her face and posture. The man turned with his head bowed, went to the door and left her standing in the guttering light of a nub of a candle.


When one day soon after the healer had left, followed by the observant guard, the queen turned to Larisa and sighed. “I do not understand Elerde. He was the one who gave me privacy with friends and confessor. Why would he turn around and take it away again?”

The merchant’s daughter shook her head. “Mayhap the guard was lying?”

Josephine frowned. “That may be. I intend to find out. But where did Shannon go?”

Larisa said, “My lady, I am not certain, but I think ‘twas to pursue the plan you and he discussed.”

“It is frustrating to be stuck here and just wait to see what others can accomplish. But we should not be able to move until the dark of the moon. That is not for several days. We have time to make everything foolproof.”

Shannon was in fact not far away, stumbling through the courtyard towards the storage building where he was sleeping these days. He dropped his charade of drunkenness as soon as he was out of sight around a corner of the hall. He resolutely went in search of the mercenary. He caught him as he emerged on horse from the stables. The man looked down on him coolly as Shannon put his hand on the bridle to prevent him from riding away.

“Sir, I would have words with ye,” Shannon said in an impatient voice.

Elerde’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you would, would you? I do not believe you are in a position to make such a demand.”

“Where the queen is concerned, I make it me position,” Shannon snapped back.

“The queen? What about the queen?” Elerde evinced mild interest.

“What do you mean by posting a guard whenever she is in company, even with her priest? I don't understand, ye just granted her the liberty.” Shannon let go of the bridle and stood squarely with his arms crossed on his chest and what on him was a comical look of defiance.

Elerde considered him a moment. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Ulsterman. I issued no such order.” He looked about, then turned back to the bard. “Meet me in the chapel after Sext. We can speak there.” Without another word he dug his heels into his horse’s flank and rode off through the gates.

Shannon stood flummoxed watching the man’s back as he rode away.

“O’Neill, lad, why are you standing out here like a scarecrow?” He turned to see Eormenthryth behind him. She had her basket and a friendly smile.

“Och, Mother, I had words with the mercenary then. How is the wee calím?”

The smile faded. “Not well, my friend. Not well.”

“Then I am thinkin’ she shall not be able to travel for some time?” Shannon asked, absorbed in some thoughts.

“Nay, and I hope you are not thinking you can take them out your secret way. A woman and four children, two of them but babes, cannot make it. They would be caught immediately, even if you could find a way to get them out without their guards knowing.” She put her hand on his arm comfortingly. “I know you want to rescue them. We all do. But you must trust the queen to know what to do. She is wiser than you think. And stronger, though she gives little sign of it.”

Shannon shot her a superior look. "Don't you think I know it, as travelin' I was with the lady to escape the war?"

She gazed at him a moment, then gave him a questioning look. “What words did you have with the Lord Elerde?”

Shannon answered, “He says he did not give the order for the guard to be present when the lady has visitors.”

“Do you believe him? He is a most duplicitous fellow. He seems single-minded. if he were to think the lady would try to escape with our help, he would prevent her so he could do the honours himself and win her grateful affection.” The healer lowered her tone as one of Elerde’s own men passed close to them. “We can still pursue our plan, but the queen and her children may not be part of it.”

Shannon looked down at the ground where he was etching spirals in the dust of the courtyard with the toe of one shoe. “Ye be right then, but still.. I wonder. The man may seem cool but I recognize somethin’ in him. Aye, he is single-minded but ‘tis not just to have the lady. It’s more.” He looked at Eormenthryth. “Will ye have it ready for the new moon?”

Eormenthryth squeezed his arm then let go. “I will. never you fear.”

Shannon waited until the office of Sext had been read and the chapel deserted. The mercenary commander had stayed on his knees before the altar after all others had left. When he heard Shannon’s lilting tones from behind him, he made the sign of the cross and got up, turning to face the Irishman. He spoke to him in his own native language which Shannon had revealed he understood.

“What is this about my ordering guards to be present whenever the queen has a visitor?” he demanded.

Shannon regarded the tall, dark haired man trying to divine whether he was dissembling. Slowly and tentatively he explained, “Well, and that be what the guard said to her in her very chamber today. I was already present, but when the healer arrived he would not leave, said you had given the order.”

He could not miss the look of irritation that passed over the soldier’s face.

Elerde however did not voice his thoughts. He turned and paced a few steps past the bard, then turned back to him, addressing him in a stern voice. “What are you up to? What plans have you and the lady hatched? “

Shannon was startled. He dropped his arms to his side and stared. “A-and what can you be meanin’, man?” he stammered.

Elerde crossed the space between them in a heartbeat, standing right up against the shorter man and putting a clenched fist under his chin. “I could crush you. Do not play with me.” His eyes burned furiously into Shannon’s .

Shannon managed to relax and stare back with an insolent and amused look in his own limpid blue eyes. “But ye wouldn't. The lady could not forgive that. And methinks ye would do nothin’ that would make her hate ye.”

The commander glared, but then subsided. “You believe that,” he said, not quite a question.

“Aye, if that be so, but methinks ye chose a risky path by allyin’ yourself with the usurper.” He held his composure under a sharp look from the commander. “But then ye mayhap don't choose your purchaser.”

Elerde struck the bard with enough force to send him sprawling backward. Under Elerde’s furious glare Shannon managed to pull himself to a sitting position. He touched his lip and examined the blood that came away on his fingers. He had an amused expression on his face.

“As often as I have been beaten up by husbands and fathers and me own da, it is after takin’ more than that to shake me,” Shannon said ruefully. “But now I know I was right.”

Elerde stood over him, his fists still clenched at his side. “Right about what?” he asked.

From the floor where he stayed sitting up, Shannon said, “That ye love her and will do whate’er ye can, no matter the damage to your fragile honor, to protect her. And now I know we can trust ye.” He struggled to his feet. He brushed off the back of his shirt, kilt and short cloak, then wiped his bloody mouth with the hem of his shirt. He looked at the bloodstain it left there and made a resigned noise, shrugged, and looked back up at the taller man. “That is why ye are here, is it not? To act as a shield for her and her children against the duke?”

Elerde dropped his gaze and nodded slowly. “How can I know I can trust you, Ulsterman?”

Shannon grinned, wincing at the pain this caused him. “Because she does.”

Elerde nodded again. “Then what is your plan? I know you have been plotting to rescue her brother. My man has watched you in your pantomime with the guards.”

Shannon raised a considering eyebrow. “Always a pleasure workin’ with another Celt. These Sassenachs have no subtlety.” Elerde was waiting for more. “Aye, we want to spring the good duke. But not just the duke.”

“You are not serious. You do not think you can take him out in the shape he is in and a woman with four children, one of them ill.. you would all be captured and killed. You know that, don’t you?”

Shannon shot back, “If they stay they will be killed! I don't know why they are still alive now, nor myself.”

The soldier looked down behind him and then went to take a seat on the rise of the sanctuary. He sighed, putting his chin in the hand whose elbow he leaned on one knee. “I should like to think ‘tis I who is keeping them alive, though the poor duke cannot thank me for anything. Methinks Gaylorde just hates him too much to give up torturing him.” He looked up at Shannon. “But I am right about trying to take them all out. It will not succeed, your plan.”

Shannon deflated, came over to the rise and sat down near Elerde. “’Twas the queen’s plan. And she will be furious that I told ye of it.”

“Permit me to worry about that. Now tell me how you planned to make the escape.”

Shannon explained about the trick of the eye and the drop to the bluff-side cave.

“And you thought you could take three adults and four children out that way? With one of them at least immobilized?” Elerde commented incredulously.

“Four adults. Larisa is coming too.”

Elerde laughed aloud. “I shall credit you with balls, my friend. But not sense.”

Shannon scowled and shrugged his thin shoulders. “’Tis all there is.”

Elerde put both elbows on his knees and his bearded chin in his cupped hands, looking off into the dark chapel. “I suppose you mean to drug the guards outside Lorin’s prison. But the guards on the nursery door. I think not.”

Shannon dropped one hand to the floor and swirled his fingers in the rushes. In a small voice he replied, “We had not quite gotten that far.”

“Clearly,” the mercenary retorted. “But you can take Lorin out. Methinks he will die soon if he stays.”

The Irishman considered him frankly. “Will you help?”

“If you promise to let me handle protecting the queen and her children, I will help you deliver Lorin from his awful state.” He looked back into Shannon’s face. “Do we have an understanding?”

Shannon slowly nodded his head. Then he asked, “Ye really do love the lady, d’ye not?”

Elerde smiled thinly. “I do indeed.”


“Shannon! Was that wise?!”

The queen looked at him alarmed. They stood in the close air of the children’s chambers, lit by day and by night only by smoky candles and the faint glow of the coals in the brazier. She could barely make out the figure of Elerde standing apart . They whispered as much to let the children sleep as to keep what they said from the man of Leon.

Josephine could see even in the poor light that Shannon sported a split lip and bruising on his mouth. For an instant she let herself fear that Elerde had forced Shannon to reveal their plan for escape and to tell her Elerde wanted to aid them. But all she knew of Shannon and all she knew of the mercenary told her this could not be. Might she hope?

“I am quite sure, me lady,” the red-haired bard said. His face and voice communicated his eagerness. “I be that convinced he wishes to aid us.. for ye and your wee ones’ sakes.”

Josephine looked in the direction of the dark figure, little more than a shape with a glint of candlelight on the buckles and rivets of his leather armor. Though his expression was obscured, she could feel the intensity of his focus on her. As always, it buzzed in her head the way the air around her buzzed on a hot summer day just before a storm. She never could make out what it meant. Her husband’s passion for her was warm and eager. This smoldering regard from the tall man of Leon uneased her.

“Is this true, my lord?” she asked in as even a voice as she could manage.

The figure moved towards her with the heavy step of a man in boots. The leather smell of him seemed to come before, enveloping her and overcoming even the fetid smell of the room. His face came into the feeble light. His eyes were on hers. “Aye, my lady. I wish nothing better than to help you and your children.. and your brother.” He stopped in front of her, not reaching out for her.

From the direction of the children’s pallets Larisa’s voice came as if from a phantasm. “Lorin? You would help Lorin?” The woman had tried hard to obscure her constant worry for her betrothed under the seriousness of the queen’s peril and Caithness’s illness. But it simmered near the surface, making her jumpy one moment and seeming drugged another. She came forward, as haggard as her royal mistress. She smelled of children still in diapers.

Elerde gave the merchant’s daughter the courtesy of a short bow, took her hand and kissed it. “Lady, I would.”

“Then I will go too, if the queen will permit me.” Larisa’s face took on a look of determination but the corner of her mouth twitched with waiting to be denied. Her eyes were averted from her mistress.

Josephine put a hand on her arm and squeezed affectionately. “My dear sister, we are all going.”

Both women caught the look exchanged between the two men. “Nay, me ladies,” the Irishman inserted. “Ibe takin' me Lord Lorin and his lady out with the good soldier’s help, but we cannot take the children.”

Josephine crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him and then the soldier. “I will not leave my children here!” she said angrily.

Elerde shook his head impatiently. He frowned at her and said in a scolding tone, “No one would ask you to do that. But you must be sensible.” He rested his hands on her shoulders.

The queen shrugged his hands off her defiantly. “I think I know best what my children need.”

Shannon, who had been watching the exchange anxiously broke in. “Me lady, ‘tis as he says. We can take your brother out, and his lady as well, but ye and the wee ones must remain.”

Josephine stared at him dumbfounded. Her eyes were wide and her jaw slack with disbelief. “You would leave me here? I do not understand.”

Elerde bit his lower lip, reached to touch her chin and turn her face in his direction. He looked into her eyes earnestly and said in an even tone, “Josephina, listen, I beg you. There is no way we could slip out undetected with the children. It would be more dangerous to take them out now than for you to stay here together.” He took her hand. She started to pull her hand from his grasp, but relaxed and listened. “You will not be unprotected. I will be here.”

She searched his eyes for comfort. “You will? You will protect us? Can this be true?”

For answer Elerde’s eyes grew warm and he put her hand gently to his lips.

“Me lady, I believe him,” the Irishman said with conviction.


Five nights later the moon was dark. Shannon met Eormenthryth as she arrived at the fortress to see the little girl. They stood facing each other near the wide well while the bustle of the day’s tasks went on about them. They could hear a horse being shod, the sudden burst of laughter from the women outside the bake house by the ovens, the shriek of a child being chased by a puppy, and the boastful swaggering talk of the guards. The air was freshened by a breeze that thankfully came off the sea and not from the direction of the middens. Occasional swirling clouds of dust rose from the sun-baked courtyard making eerie wraithlike shadows.

“Well met, bard,” the older woman said, her face grave but with a twinkle in her eye. “How is Caithness?”

Shannon winked at her, “I should hope ye could tell me that.” He looked about them, then leaned in. “Do ye have the medicine for me own ailment?”

Eormenthryth nodded. “Take this,” she said, thrusting her large heavy basket at him.

He took it, needing both hands to hold it steady, and he smelled the mixture of sweet, savory and not so pleasant concoctions under the linen cloth. “Do you have a dead cat in here?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Nay, that is just the valerian root. It stinks.” She sniffed him. “But you do too, of an ale house. And I should know. I just stopped at the alehouse to see my friend Leofwen on my way here. You can’t help the queen if you are drunk, you know, my lad/” She rooted about in the basket under the cloth as she berated him.

“Nay, Mother. I donn't know why but I have not wanted drink this fortnight and more. What ye smell is me disguise.” He winked again. At her dubious look, he went on. “I pour a cup of stale ale on meself ere I go among the guards. And I haven't washed in some days.”

The healer considered him for a few moments, then handed him a tiny bottle with a waxed stopper as she took the basket back. “Now that you need not have told me.” She made as to wave off a smell.

“Would this be me remedy?” Shannon said, inspecting the small clay bottle.

Eormenthryth nervously gestured for him to put the bottle away in his scrip. “Aye, aye, and take care not to spill it. Two drops in a cup of wine should do the trick. You should sleep well and deeply. But knocking off that drinking would do the same, truth be told.” She had raised her voice as one of Gaylorde’s guards passed them on his way to the middens. She said in the same volume, “I will be leaving Lawrencium now. My village has been without me long enough.” More quietly she told the Irishman, “I pray that the child will heal with her mother’s loving touch and care.”

Shannon smiled his sweet but crooked little boy smile and nodded. “God grant it.”

She watched Shannon secrete the bottle, then she reach and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You are a good lad, Shannon. A very good lad. The Goddess guide and protect you, my friend,” she said earnestly.

Shannon smiled reassurance. “She has e’er been my especial friend and protector.” He nodded. “And we will have some other more earthly help.”

Next: The Rescue of Lrin

New Stories: Adbancing on Grantham (Happened with changes)

Jehan is now Harold.

eaving Lincoln in its earl’s jealously capable hands Lawrence headed to Grantham in the southwest of Críslicland as quickly as an army could. It was a reduced force. Almost as soon as Lincoln had opened its gates to the king, many of the local men drifted away. Securing Sagar’s promise to gather them up again and bring them south as soon as possible Lawrence addressed the army. He called for unity, for sacrifice, and he told the men that failure to safeguard the sovereignty of the kingdom would be a disaster for them as well as for him. Not a man did not respond to his appeal.

Now the man riding anxiously at his side was Grantham’s Earl Jehan. The message intercepted from Thryduulf, Gaylorde’s crony there, a dull fellow who nevertheless was a fine fighter as Lawrence recalled, made it clear that there was imminent threat of an attack by the kingdom of Mercia. Where the threat from the Affynshire conspirators had been dangerous, and the usurping of Lawrence’s throne was likewise, any threat from Offa, king of the Mercians, could mean the end of Críslicland incontrovertibly. Lawrence knew this as well as the older Earl riding by him did.

With Lincoln’s Sagar in attendance, the king had met with Jehan and the Earl of Skirbeck Botopher.

“I have sent Seaxwulf to tell the man holding Grantham, some fellow named Thryduulf, that his own messenger fell from his horse as he rode back to Grantham,” the king informed them. “Frightened by a snake or whatever Seaxwulf thinks most credible. AS Seaxwulf was by all accounts cooperating with Edric here, he will be believed.” Lawrence had noticed that Earl Jehan’s face had further clouded at the mention of Thryduulf’s name. “What is it, Jehan? Some information we can use?” he asked him.

“A man I know well, my liege, though mayhap more rightly deemed a snake himself. He is a thane within my holdings. A slippery fellow who drips honey one moment, then finds a way to avoid or disrupt much that I try to control. I am not surprised he is Gaylorde’s man, though it means he knows the area well and has local men commanding any traitorous fighters the Duke has sent him.” Jehan shook his head in disgust.

“My lord,” asked Sagar, markedly more respectful of the king now that he had his own fortress secure, “what message have you sent with Seaxwulf?”

Lawrence’s grim smile revealed some satisfaction with his answer. “That Edric of Lincoln is on his way to help and shall arrive and surprise the Mercians from behind in five days.” He paused, nodded seemingly to himself, then went on. “I had ‘Edric’ instruct him to spend whatever time he has ere the Mercians supplying his fortress for a siege... and to deny the Mercians forage.”

Jehan smiled, “That should keep him busy.”

“And distracted from questioning the plan and its source,” the king agreed.

Jehan’s smile broadened. “That will not be difficult. Thryduulf ere believes he is two steps ahead of the game. He will be too busy congratulating himself on his likely success to think of much else.”

Botopher put in, “What if the Mercians are a great force?”

Sagar answered for Lawrence, “We have sent our fastest messenger to Ratherwood to instruct the venerable Horsa, at the king’s command, to meet us on this side of the Trenta from Hucknall. He should be able to travel quickly and be there ere we arrive.”

“Horsa predicted Mercia would attack. He will already be waiting for orders,” the king added.

Earl Jehan's unctuous gratitude irritated the king. "My liege, to pass up the chance to save Lawrencium for Grantham's sake…"

The king’s somber look included a strong set jaw. “If Mercia gains a foothold, they may reach Lawrencium before we could have. Best to stop them before they can.”

Lawrence did not disclose his belief that should he come riding boldly and directly to Lawrencium Gaylorde, his cousin, would simply use Josephine and the children as shields and bargaining pieces. Ironically, knowing Elerde was somehow involved in Gaylorde’s perfidious plans reassured Lawrence. He knew that Elerde would do whatever it took to safeguard the queen and the royal children. The longer he could appear to be held by battle with Mercia the longer Elerde and he would have to separately find a way ro rescue the love of both men's lives .

The king’s army moved southwest from Lincoln towards the River Trenta crossing opposite the Affynshire town of Gunthorpe. There they found Horsa’s own soldiers camped and waiting not far from an abbey. When the king dismounted to clasp hands with the old warlord, he had a gratifying surpriose. There standing in a rough semicircle behind Horsa was a troop of archers dressed in the colors of King Ruallauh's own.

“What is this?” Lawrence asked the captain of the group, a dark skinnedl man with massive shoulders and arms.

The man made a deep bow. “We are sent from our lord king Ruallauh. I am Gethin, the leader of this party. We are commanded to help you scout and..” He paused to grin knowingly, ”To take care of bothersome scouts and small bands of foragers.”

With one eyebrow raised, the king nodded. “Indeed? Then Ruallauh has indeed brought me luck, as I suspected he should.”

Next: The Plot to Rescue Lrroin